


Forgotten Warriors

by TortieMom



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TortieMom/pseuds/TortieMom
Summary: A series of short one-shots based around the lesser-explored characters and relationships in Warriors.





	1. Cinderpelt - Should Have Been

_Cinderpelt - Should Have Been There_

 

Cinderpelt’s paws froze to the ground as Fireheart dragged Brightpaw’s body into the medicine den. If not for her shaky whimpers and moans of pain, Cinderpelt would have thought she was dead.

“What…” Her own voice shook, and she forced the fear back. She was ThunderClan’s only medicine cat now; she had to be stronger. Yellowfang would not have shuddered at the sight of the injured cat, even if she was her kin. “What happened?”

“We don’t know for sure.” Fireheart kept his head down, as if he were already mourning Brightpaw.

Determination flared through Cinderpelt. She would _not_ lose her littermate, her sister.

She worked tirelessly to nurse Brightpaw—Lostface—back to health. She slept close to her to soothe her nightmares, licking her ears and back when she woke with cries of, “Pack, pack, kill, kill!” Cloudtail healed what Cinderpelt’s herbs and cobwebs could not, visiting regularly to keep Lostface’s spirit in ThunderClan.

When it came to light that she had been injured following Swiftpaw, guilt gnawed at Cinderpelt’s belly. She had not thought of her injury and warrior life for some time; her duties as a medicine cat held her interest and she was eager to serve her Clan, especially now that their health was in her paws alone. She felt Yellowfang’s bold spirit in the medicine den, and she had learned about more than plants and sicknesses from the old she-cat.

But even so, she couldn’t help but think that if she was still training as a warrior, she could have persuaded Swiftpaw and Brightpaw not to go by themselves. That two apprentices weren’t enough to face the danger.

She twitched her whiskers and rested her muzzle on Lostface’s neck, breathing in the smell of herbs from the poultice she applied to her sister’s wounds. If Swiftpaw had suggested such a brave mission when she was in the apprentice den, she knew she would have been one of the first to volunteer to join him. It could just as easily be her lying there with half a face instead of a twisted leg.

Still…

_I should have been there._

But she wasn’t, and in time she understood it was because StarClan needed her right where she was to save Brightheart’s life, to see her become a warrior, to visit Whitekit in the nursery with gifts of feathers and moss balls. One apprentice would not have made a difference against the dogs that mauled Brightheart and killed Swiftpaw, but one skilled medicine cat could make all the difference between life and death.

In the last moments of her life, facing down the snarling jaws of a badger, Cinderpelt trusted that Leafpool would reach the same realization.

Cinderpelt extended her claws and recalled her training from so many seasons ago, when she was Firestar’s apprentice. She arched her back and let out a wild hiss. She couldn’t be there to save her sister from pain, but she would _not_ let her brother’s kits be murdered when they had only just taken their first breaths of life.

“StarClan, help me!”


	2. Blackstar - Your Old Life Is No More

Blackfoot looked up at the nearly full moon rising over Highstones, and the realization finally struck that after this night he would be Blackstar, leader of ShadowClan.

Seasons ago this would have sent a bolt of excitement from his nose all the way to the tip of his tail and paws, but now it seemed like a horrible weight about to be hoisted onto his shoulders. ShadowClan was still in disarray after seasons of horrible leadership—first Brokenstar’s madness, then Nightstar (rather, Nightpelt) leaving them in incapable paws before, finally, the rule of Tigerstar, the desperate last hope of a Clan so close to the brink of destruction that it would allow an outsider to take charge.

And Tigerstar nearly had destroyed them. He cared nothing for ShadowClan, or RiverClan, or any other Clan but his delusional dream of TigerClan ruling the entire forest. At the time it sounded like a good idea, every warrior working together for the good of all cats. And if any other cat had decided to take this path, out of true empathy, it might have worked. But Tigerstar was not an empathic cat. Everything he did was for his own selfish gain.

Blackfoot cringed. He was just as guilty of believing Tigerstar’s charisma and confidence as every other cat who had followed him. Worse, he’d fallen for it twice; first trusting Brokenstar’s insane decisions in the belief that it would make ShadowClan strong, even following him into exile, and then doing the same with Tigerstar. After all, loyalty to one’s leader was the heart of the warrior code, more so in ShadowClan than perhaps any other Clan.

ShadowClan paid a terrible price for its misguided loyalty. They should have trusted that ThunderClan had good reason to banish Tigerstar and driven him out, but instead they allowed him to plot and bring BloodClan to the forest. Many ShadowClan warriors died in that battle, and perhaps, in finally defending their home from fox-hearted invaders, had found peace at last.

Blackfoot supposed he’d find out tonight.

His paws slid silently over smooth, cold stone as he followed Runningnose. He had only been to the Moonstone once, as per the requirement to become a warrior, and even then he hadn’t spoken to StarClan. He’d only been accompanying Yellowfang on her way to seek advice about some matter or another, and had slept as far from the glowing stone as possible in the small cavern. Perhaps his uneasiness around the stone had been a sign of what a horrible deputy he would be to his Clan.

For a moment his heart stopped. Would StarClan accept him?

Surely they must. If they had given Tigerstar and Brokenstar nine lives, then it would be only right that Blackfoot receive his nine lives as well. After all, he wasn’t mad with power, or just plain mad, as they had been. He wanted ShadowClan to be strong, but he knew now that strength was not achieved through senseless fighting.

When they were at the tunnel entrance, Runningnose said, “This is the last I will speak to you tonight. Lie down and press your nose to the stone. When your dreaming self wakes, you will be among StarClan.”

Blackfoot dipped his head and they journeyed through the dark in silence. He couldn’t help but notice how tired Runningnose looked, despite not being very old. He had been working so hard, looking after so many injured cats, that he hadn’t slept in two nights. It was only at Blackfoot’s insistence that they made the journey tonight, as his ceremony could be delayed no longer. Littlecloud had volunteered to watch over his injured Clanmates, and though Tigerstar ignored it, Blackfoot had noticed that Littlecloud was ever more drawn to the medicine den. When he returned as leader he would make it his first order of business to appoint Littlecloud as Runningnose’s apprentice, so long as both cats agreed.

Even without the full light of the moon shining on it, the Moonstone was dazzling. Runningnose quickly and easily took his place, but Blackfoot's paws hesitated once more. With a deep breath, he lied down and pressed his nose to the stone, jolted by the sharp chill.

In what felt like no time at all, the cold stone was replaced by a warm and a gentle breeze ruffling Blackfoot’s fur, smelling so strongly of prey that he wondered if he might not open his eyes to a gathering of mice, squirrels, and frogs lined up in front of his claws.

He was met instead by a group of far more than nine cats whose pelts shined with more stars than he could see from camp at night. He expected them to be faint and barely visible, but he could see every hair clearly defined, muscle rippling beneath as the old warriors were restored to their former youth and strength.

To his dismay, there were more than a few kits present.

“Welcome, Blackfoot,” they spoke. Unable to find words, all he could do was dip his head in respect and keep it bowed. “Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”

“Yes,” Blackfoot replied, but his mew sounded too soft and choked. He raised his head and lifted his chin. This wasn’t the time to be meek—he had to show these cats that he could lead ShadowClan. He owed them a stronger leader. He repeated firmly, “Yes, I’m ready.”

The first cat padded forward, and Blackfoot recognized the dark gray pelt of Cedarstar. “With this life, I give you honor. Use it well to guide your Clan through the dark times ahead, and remind them that there is a reason why the warrior code has survived the test of time.”

Cedarstar pressed his muzzle between Blackfoot’s ears and a surge of pain bolted through him. He almost yowled from the unexpectedness of it more than the pain. It was far more intense than he could have ever expected, as if he were feeling the wound of every warrior who had ever fought in any battle, _every_ battle, and his heart pounded with the desire to protect his Clanmates and the code.

The pain subsided and Cedarstar stepped back into the group, his tail tip brushing Blackfoot’s shoulder as he turned as if to apologize for not warning him. Blackfoot shook it off and stood ready to receive his second life. Now that he knew what to expect, he would be much better prepared to receive the next eight lives—if he could survive the experience.

A dark brown tom, Raggedstar, came next. Blackfoot lowered his tail.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, not sure if he was allowed to speak or not. “If I had known what was going to happen—”

Raggedstar silenced Blackfoot with a flick of his ear. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened to me. It was my own fault and undoing that Brokenstar came into power. You were only trying to support your friend and show loyalty to your new leader. But there is a lesson to be learned in all this, and so with this life I give you humility. Use it well to serve your Clan and remember always that you are given the position of leader over your Clan not for your own pride, but for the sake of every kit and elder, to make sure that they are well fed and protected.”

Blackfoot closed his eyes as Raggedstar’s muzzle touched his forehead and once again pain coursed through him. He felt claws and teeth sink into his neck and belly and realized that he must be feeling the pain Raggedstar had felt when Brokenstar murdered him, and the deep-seated regret for turning a blind eye to his ruthless behavior, even encouraging it. Blackfoot could hear Raggedstar's thoughts as plainly as if he spoke them: _I wanted my son to succeed me, to have my legacy live forever. I put my own desires ahead of what was right for my Clan._

Raggedstar pulled away, and Blackfoot steadied himself on his paws.

The next cat he scarcely recognized. The black and white tom with the striped face was taller now, filled out with muscle, like a warrior who had just received his name instead of the small, fluffy kit that Blackfoot remembered. He glanced beyond the warrior and saw the proud face of a tortoiseshell queen.

_Fernshade, my dear littermate! Great StarClan, is this ceremony going to be full of cats I failed? She would never have died in the battle with BloodClan if I had been willing to stand up to Tigerstar._

“Hello, Blackfoot,” Badgerfang mewed. “Unfortunately I was never able to get to know you well in ShadowClan, but with the approval of my mother, I have come to give you one of your lives. Consider it from both of us.” He leaned forward. “With this life, I give you mentoring, not just for the skills that feed and protect our Clan, but for the warrior code as well. May you never forget it, and never let any other cat in your care forget it.”

When Badgerfang’s muzzle touched Blackfoot’s ear he was once again thrust into a world of pain—not Badgerfang’s own this time as he lay dying in a battle he was too young to see, but the agony of his littermates Flintfang and Fernshade as they sat vigil for the tiny tom. Guilt washed over Blackfoot.

_I should have been with them to mourn their loss. Why wasn’t I? What possible duty did I have that was more important than being with my littermates in their time of need?_

Badgerfang stepped back, looking untroubled by the memory, and went to stand beside Fernshade as the next cat came forward.

Mosspaw was almost as big as an apprentice should be, but Blackfoot knew that he was still moons too young. He had never even seen battle, killed in practice by cats who still should have been his denmates. He saw Brownpaw a little ways off, sitting quietly and watching; he was glad that they’d apparently made up, and Wetfoot had become a reliable warrior.

Blackfoot leaned down to receive his life from Mosspaw. “With this life, I give you compassion. Use it well to remember that no cat is entirely good or entirely evil, and that sometimes all a cat needs to turn away from a dark path is a listening ear.”

This life did not come with pain, which was equally as shocking as the first pain had been to Blackfoot. Instead he felt warmth creep through his fur like the purring of a gentle queen, comforting and calm to soothe away any thoughts of vengeance of malice toward even the most hated of enemies.

He remembered with a shudder how callous Brokenstar had been to Mosspaw’s loss, and how he rewarded Brownkit and Wetkit for it by making them underaged apprentices too. How much grief must Featherstorm have suffered for the loss of her son, and Newtspeck with the knowledge that her own two caused it and become a part of the horrifying regime Brokenstar had created?

Mosspaw walked back to Brownpaw, and another small apprentice came forward; his brother, Volepaw. Volepaw had survived for longer than a lot of the other kit-apprentices, but Brokenstar forced him to fight rats—a feat dangerous even to fully grown warriors—and he had died of infected wounds.

Once again Blackfoot had to lean down to receive his life.

“With this life, I give you courage. Use it well to lead your Clan through suspicion and doubt, and to have faith in your decisions. You are not your predecessors, and with time the other Clans will see that.”

The pain returned with this life, but was not the searing fire that the other lives had been; instead Blackfoot felt the pain of rat bites and other battle injuries, as well as fur between his claws and almost overwhelming confidence.

“Your Clan believes in you; use that to believe in yourself,” Volepaw said before trotting back to Mosspaw and Brownpaw, allowing two much smaller cats to come forward from their place beside an orange tabby queen.

Blackfoot hardly recognized who they were, as they’d been in ShadowClan for such a short time, but their names surfaced after a moment of thought: Brightflower’s kits, Marigoldkit and Mintkit. Whether a fox really had killed them, or if it had been another of Brokenstar’s ploys for control and power in the Clan by getting rid of Yellowfang, Blackfoot was uncertain. He felt both relief and pain that they’d never been forced into battle too early by Brokenstar.

The tortoiseshell she-cat, looking far wiser than any kit should, padded forward. “With this life, I give you justice. Use it well to always strive to do the right thing and make the truth known.”

_I’m sorry, Marigoldkit, but I don’t know the truth of your death_ , Blackfoot sighed. _Nor is there any cat left alive to tell. All your kin are here with you._

Mintkit joined his sister. “With this life, I give you love. Use it for the cats in your care as if they were all your kin.”

Both of the tiny kits stretched their noses upward, and Blackfoot realized that he would have to endure both at once. He leaned down and pressed his muzzle to their noses, jolted into the memory of their deaths. As he might have suspected, there was Brokenstar, forcing them to practice fighting moves when they could barely even walk yet. Each swipe of his massive paws sent waves of pain through Blackfoot’s body, until it faded away, and the kits were dead.

“I am sorry that your lives were so short,” Blackfoot mewed.

Marigoldkit waved her tail at him in acceptance of his apology before joining Mintkit beside Brightflower. There was regret in the old queen's eyes, too—she had helped exile her own daughter for a crime she didn't commit. Blackfoot did not see Yellowfang among the gathered StarClan cats. Was the former medicine cat so ashamed of ShadowClan—ashamed of him—that she didn't see any point in watching his ceremony?

When Blackfoot saw the next cat all other thoughts were forced from his mind and he rushed forward to greet her, wishing that he could nuzzle into her soft gray and white fur as he had when he was a kit.

“Hollyflower!” he purred.

“Hello, Blackfoot,” Hollyflower purred back. “I am so proud of you, and I know that you will be a good leader for our Clan. With this life, I give you tradition. Remember your roots, and the roots of your Clan. ShadowClan has lived by the warrior code for just as long as any of the others, and are just as deserving of their place in the forest.”

Blackfoot didn’t hesitate at all to receive Hollyflower’s life. He felt a rush of pride, and his ears rang with the excited calls that he had heard before in his life— _Blackpaw_ , _Blackfoot_!—and every other name of every ShadowClan apprentice, warrior, and medicine cat echoed through his body. _I am a Clan cat! I am a warrior of ShadowClan! I will defend my Clanmates and the warrior code to the death!_

Hollyflower curved her tail over his back and returned to her place, and the last cat came forward. Blackfoot’s entire body tensed up when he saw the gray pelt. Of all cats to be present at this ceremony, he would never have guessed Stonefur would be one of them.

There was no hostility in the RiverClan deputy's gaze. “With this life, I give you forgiveness. Sometimes even the most loyal of warriors make mistakes.”

The pain of this life was the most intense of all, not just because Blackfoot was forced to relive Stonefur’s death through the gray tom’s eyes, but because he saw himself come forward to finish him off. He saw what he looked like to Stonefur—a ruthless killer, delighting in the pain and suffering he was causing other cats, eagerly following Tigerstar down the path that would destroy the code and the Clans forever. Then the pain subsided, and he saw himself as Stonefur saw him now; misguided, ambitious, but loyal at heart and willing to give everything to his Clan to restore their strength and honor.

“I forgive you,” Stonefur said.

Blackfoot bowed his head. “That is more than I could ever ask for. I am sorry for what I did to you, to every cat who suffered at the claws of Brokenstar or Tigerstar. I swear that under my leadership, ShadowClan will live by the warrior code, with courage and honor. We will never strike a helpless foe, or commit senseless acts of cruelty on any cat. This is my oath to you.”

Stonefur purred. “Your apology is accepted by us all.”

All nine cats who had given Blackfoot his lives came forward, leaving the sides of their mothers and friends who had come to watch. Blackfoot caught Fernshade’s gaze as her son and their mother took their places in the circle around Blackfoot. For a moment they locked eyes, and Blackfoot could feel her pride as well. Though Badgerfang had been the one to give him a life, he knew that she would have gladly given him one if there had been room, but the nine cats around him had given him all he would need to lead ShadowClan.

Raggedstar spoke, loud and clear.

“I hail you by your new name, Blackstar. Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of ShadowClan. Defend it well; care for the young and the old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

The circle erupted. “Blackstar! Blackstar! Blackstar!”

_Your old life is no more_.

Blackstar woke from his vision free of the uncertainty that had plagued him before. He was no longer Blackfoot, deputy to Brokenstar and Tigerstar, former rogue. He was now Blackstar, leader of ShadowClan, and he would do all that was within his power to defend and serve his Clanmates for all the seasons of his nine lives.


	3. Yellowfang's Choice

Avalon vents her frustrations about _Yellowfang's Secret_ through fanfiction? You betcha

Dedicated to Reye and the one character in _Warriors_ he knows. Yes, Reye, that is Yellowfang.

 

_Yellowfang's Choice_

 

Yellowfang stared into the puddle, paws twitching in anticipation—though she didn't know why. Her squashed face permanently looked like she had just picked a piece of crowfood out of the fresh-kill pile, and her dull gray fur was marked by more scars than battles she could remember. Sagewhisker scolded her often to be more careful in fights, but how could she when her Clanmates were in danger?

Why Raggedpelt asked to meet her here, near the ThunderClan border, she couldn't begin to fathom.

Until she saw the tabby warrior approaching with a yellow flower dangling from his jaws like a piece of fresh-kill.

“That isn't a funny joke,” Yellowfang said, swiping her tongue over a paw and wiping her ear.

Raggedpelt dropped the flower at her feet. “Good, because it isn't a joke.” He sat down next to her, looking away. “I'm… not good at this sort of thing, but… I've had my eye on you for some moons, Yellowfang. And now that I'm deputy, I thought, maybe, it might be time to make that known.”

Yellowfang bent her neck to sniff at the flower. “I'm not pretty, you know. And I'll only get uglier as I get older.”

“Who cares about things like that?” Raggedpelt asked. “You're an admirable warrior and you say just what you think. We could be an unstoppable team. You don't need me to watch your back, but I know I'd feel better fighting side-by-side with you, against anything we ever face.”

Yellowfang felt a purr rising in her throat. “You can keep talking.”

“That's all I've got to say,” Raggedpelt said, shifting uncomfortably. “Is it enough?”

She butted her head into his shoulder, letting her tail curl over his. “It was more than enough. You haven't been invisible to me these past moons, you know.” _I just never thought you would fall in love with a she-cat like me._

Raggedpelt's purr threatened to rumble through her own paws and he rested his muzzle between her torn ears. “Then let's fight together from now on.”

Yellowfang rubbed her cheek along his neck and shoulder, warmth filling her chest and radiating through her fur. She felt like an apprentice on her first outing to see the territory, everything suddenly new and wonderful.

“Let's.”

 

The ThunderClan border looked different in Leafbare, the empty trees offering a clear view of rival territory across the Thunderpath. Yellowfang waited for Raggedpelt to finish assigning patrols, knowing he would see that she was missing and come to find her in their special place.

No sooner did she finish giving herself a wash than she heard pawsteps approaching. Raggedpelt was thin, as they all were, but his eyes were bright and his fur was freshly groomed.

“Yellowfang,” he said, purring out her name, “Where were you this morning?”

“Where, indeed?” Yellowfang teased, batting his shoulder with a paw. In response he hooked a paw around hers and tackled her to the ground, nuzzling into her thick, warm fur.

“Excuse me!” a plaintive voice called, and Yellowfang pushed Raggedpelt off her to see a small calico she-cat trotting up to them. There was a collar around her neck, and it made an irritating jingling noise as she moved. “Excuse me, hello? Do you know how to get back to TwolegPlace…?”

Yellowfang bared her teeth in a snarl, unsure if she was more upset at a kittypet trespassing on ShadowClan territory or her precious time with Raggedpelt being interrupted.

Raggedpelt's impressive claws sank into the snow. He had no love for kittypets, owing to his father being one. It had taken seasons for him to prove to the other warriors that he was not some pampered pellet-eater, and part of that was being ruthless to every kittypet that came across ShadowClan territory.

_She's a total frog-brain if she managed to get all the way_ here  _without finding any other cat to help, and in the middle of Leafbare too!_ Yellowfang thought. To Raggedpelt, she said, “Should we have some fun?”

“We fight together,” he agreed, “Not that this will be much of one...”

“Hello, I— _aaugh_!” the kittypet cried out as Yellowfang pounced, bowling her off her paws and into the snow. The stupid she-cat didn't even stand up right away, looking up at Yellowfang like a kit who lost her moss ball. “Why did you do that?”

“You're trespassing on ShadowClan territory,” Raggedpelt growled. “Turn back the way you came! We won't tell you twice!”

“But I don't know! I got lost in the woods, and ended up here. I know there must be Twolegs near, because they have a darkpath near here...”

“Can't you keep quiet?” Yellowfang snapped, “Your yowling is going to scare away every piece of prey from here to your precious Twoleg den, and we can't spare a day's worth of hunting for a lost little kittypet.”

Raggedpelt gave her a darkly satisfied look. “I said we wouldn't tell her twice.”

Finally, the kittypet got to her paws and started to run, stumbling through the snow. Yellowfang gave her a few heartbeats' head start before tearing across the ground after her, Raggedpelt on her heel. The chase was exhilarating, giving her energy she sorely needed after days of poor hunting.

“Yellowfang—”

“Keep up, Raggedpelt!”

The kittypet streaked toward the Thunderpath. Yellowfang was nearly upon her when Raggedpelt bit her scruff and hauled her back, off her feet. Before she could hiss at him, a terrified caterwaul split the air, followed by a horrid  _thump_ and the sound of a monster's growling as it continued along its cursed path.

The calico kittypet lay still on the Thunderpath, her scent covered by the stench of blood.

Raggedpelt, still breathing hard, pulled Yellowfang up onto her feet. “Come on. Let's get back to camp.”

Yellowfang couldn't stop staring at the lump of fur. “Shouldn't we—”

“She's _dead_ ,” Raggedpelt said, then shook his head. “Thank StarClan you aren't, too.”

They were silent on the walk back to camp.

 

Yellowfang sat outside Sagewhisker's den, listening to the old she-cat shout at Cedarstar. She didn't have to be close to hear it. She couldn't recall a time when Sagewhisker wasn't the most temperamental cat in all the Clans.

“ _Nightpelt_!” she shrieked. Yellowfang didn't know how Cedarstar could bare it. “You want me to take Nightpelt as my apprentice! And why? Because he has a cough? A warrior with trouble breathing is _your_ problem to resolve, not mine and not StarClan's! He can hunt, he can protect camp, he can be a warrior. Come back when you have a real suggestion, or when any of these frog-brained kits shows any connection to StarClan.”

Cedarstar left the medicine den, giving Yellowfang a sympathetic look on his way out. “Good luck,” he mewed, “She's in a mood. Hungry, probably.”

Yellowfang doubted Sagewhisker had been  _hungry_ for innumerable seasons. With a deep breath, she entered the medicine den.

“Yellowfang!” Sagewhisker exclaimed, “What patch of fur have you gotten torn off this time? I swear, soon you'll have more scars than skin.”

“I'm not hurt,” Yellowfang said, sitting down at the entrance to the den. She would not get up again until she got the answer she wanted. “I've come to be your apprentice.”

Sagewhisker snorted. “ _You_ ? Who put you up to this joke?” 

“No cat put me up to anything, and it isn't a joke!” Yellowfang hissed back. “I want to be a medicine cat. It's the best way for me to serve my Clan, since I… I can't be a warrior anymore.” Every time she closed her eyes, she heard that kittypet's scream of fear and pain. She didn't even know the cat's name, but she'd chased her to her death. Why? Because she got lost in the wrong place? “I just can't.”

Sagewhisker leaned in and sniffed her. “Well, you don't  _smell_ sick...” The old white she-cat curled her tail over her paws thoughtfully. “But I don't know if you'd be able to bear being a medicine cat. I'll consider you, but I want you to take a quarter-moon off warrior duties before I decide. See if you can handle it.”

Yellowfang lifted her head. Sagewhisker was being far more amenable than she thought she'd be.

“You'll have to sleep here, in the medicine den,” Sagewhisker continued, “No hunting. No fighting. No battle practice. No patrols. You'll eat fresh-kill when your Clanmates catch it for you, and when you aren't gathering herbs you'll stay in camp to attend to them. And,” she hesitated, “No mate.”

This was the part that hurt worst of all, like thorns wrapping around Yellowfang's heart. It hadn't hurt so much before, maybe because she assumed Sagewhisker would laugh her out of the medicine den at her request and that would be the end of it.

“I'll tell Raggedpelt,” Yellowfang sighed.

“Good. You go and do that. I'll let Cedarstar know,” Sagewhisker said, emerging from her den to find her beleaguered leader.

It really was too easy. Maybe Sagewhisker already received a sign from StarClan about Yellowfang being her apprentice.

What came next was anything but easy.

Yellowfang asked Raggedpelt to meet here near the ThunderClan border again, for the last time.

“You're… you're what?” Raggedpelt asked, the flower dropping from his mouth. Newleaf was coming more slowly than usual; he must have searched far and wide across the territory to find one.

“I'm sorry, Raggedpelt,” Yellowfang said softly, “You know that I love you, and you have been everything a she-cat could want in a mate. But since that day, I can't… I can't be a warrior anymore. I can't face an enemy patrol knowing that my claws could end their lives.”

“You're an honorable warrior! You would never kill unless you had to,” Raggedpelt insisted, “Has some cat been saying otherwise?”

“No, but it is true. I didn't mean to kill that kittypet, but if it weren't for me, she would still be alive.”

“That kittypet was killed by a Twoleg monster and her own stupidity,” Raggedpelt hissed, his claws sinking into the snow just as they had that day.

Yellowfang shook her head. “My decision is made. I will always love you, Raggedpelt, but I must love ShadowClan more.”

“And I will love you until the stars burn out,” Raggedpelt said, pressing his muzzle to hers. She should have swiped at him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. They only had a few moments to fill with a lifetime's worth of love. “Cedarstar is getting old, and Sagewhisker is already ancient. Soon I'll be leader, and you'll be my medicine cat. We'll keep fighting, side by side, and all of ShadowClan will be like our kits.”

Yellowfang's heart burst through the thorns, shredding itself. How could any cat ever love another as she loved Raggedpelt? How could she let go of him?

But she knew she was not meant to be a nursery queen, and Sagewhisker desperately needed an apprentice. None of the kits nearing their apprentice ceremonies would survive her harsh tongue long enough to actually learn anything, but Yellowfang had withstood countless battles. She alone had the strength to withstand the old she-cat.

 

Discovering her pregnancy should have been the happiest moment of Yellowfang's life. Instead, only a half-moon into her apprenticeship, Sagewhisker prodded her awake with a sour expression.

“Are you sure about this apprenticeship?” she demanded.

“Of course,” Yellowfang grumbled back, rolling over to get a little more sleep.

“You might not be once you find out you're expecting kits.”

Yellowfang snapped awake, her face a whisker's length from Sagewhisker's. “ _What_ ?”

“A little less than a moon along, I'd bet. If prey were running better you'd be showing by now,” Sagewhisker said, mostly to herself. “So. What now?”

'What now' was convincing Raggedpelt that Yellowfang absolutely needed the deputy's help to retrieve an herb that only grew on WindClan territory, as the slow-warming Newleaf left ShadowClan's territory barren when it came to herbs.

Once they were a distance from camp, Yellowfang said, “We're having kits.”

She almost leapt on him to stop him from purring so loud that all the Clans would hear.

“I'm not giving up my apprenticeship. Being around Sagewhisker has only made it more obvious how frail she is. She's got a paw in StarClan, and ShadowClan needs a medicine cat,” Yellowfang added.

“The kits will have to be raised in ShadowClan,” Raggedpelt insisted. “But...”

“But?”

“You don't have to raise them,” Raggedpelt said. “Lizardstripe is due to have her litter soon.”

“Lizardstripe!” Yellowfang gaped. “Why not suggest a fox or a badger while you're at it?”

“I know you and Lizardstripe haven't always gotten along,” Raggedpelt said, and the look on his face told Yellowfang that he knew what a load of fox-dung that was, “But she is the best option we have. I'll visit the kits frequently, to make sure she can't neglect them. They'll grow up knowing they are loved, and you won't have to stop being a medicine cat. You have nothing to worry about.”

 

_Nothing to worry about!_ Yellowfang thought bitterly as she lay against the bark of a hollow tree, breathing hard through her labor pains. Sagewhisker agreed with her that if she wanted ShadowClan to accept the kits, giving birth to them in the nursery was the last thing she could do. Any cat with eyes knew she was carrying kits, and they'd know the kits she brought back to camp with her would be her and Raggedpelt's. 

But, for the sake of ShadowClan and saving face in front of other Clans, they would never admit they knew—and Cedarstar was on his last life. Raggedpelt would be Raggedstar soon enough, and no cat was going to bully the leader's kits. They would grow up never knowing the secret their Clanmates kept from them. They would be fine.

Even if Yellowfang felt anything  _but_ fine.

“Push, you useless lump of fur!” Sagewhisker yowled, pressing on Yellowfang's side. “ _Push_!”

With a screech, Yellowfang delivered her first kit. Sagewhisker scooped it up, lapping furiously at its wet fur and pushing it toward Yellowfang's belly. She lifted her head, barely catching a glimpse of the bundle of gray tabby fur before another spasm wracked her body and she yelped.

Sagewhisker abandoned the kit, which had yet to start nursing or mewl, and focused on Yellowfang. “You got one. Now the next. Come on, Yellowfang, it's not so hard!”

“Then _you_ do it!” Yellowfang spat between her panting. With a cry, the second kit was born, almost immediately squeaking as soon as it touched the cool bark. Sagewhisker cleaned it up and put it to Yellowfang's belly, where it started to suckle right away.

_Where's the other kit?_ Yellowfang wondered distantly through a haze of pain,  _Why aren't two of them nursing? Isn't it hungry?_

Another series of spasms, another yowl, another kit born. Sagewhisker rested a paw on her shoulder, licking her between the ears. “You've done it, Yellowfang. I'm so proud of you.”

Now Yellowfang was concerned.

Why wasn't Sagewhisker cleaning the last kit?

She bent her head to see, and was overwhelmed at the sight of blood. Her claws slid out on instinct. Had Sagewhisker killed her kits to remove the inconvenience? No, she wouldn't kill two and leave one alive, nursing with greedy gulps.

Yellowfang touched her nose to the gray tabby and the solid gray she-kits. They were cold, still. Like lumps of snow. Like the kittypet on the Thunderpath.

“No,” she gasped.

“There hasn't been much fresh-kill,” Sagewhisker sighed, “She-cats who are pregnant in Leafbare often have this problem. But one survives.” She lapped the brown tabby kit, the spitting image of his father, except for the pronounced kink in his tail. “We'll wait a while, and take him back to ShadowClan when you're fit for travel.”

Yellowfang collapsed onto the surface of the hollow trunk, exhausted to her very soul.

 

“What is that?” Lizardstripe growled at the squirming bundle of fur.

“It's my kit,” Raggedpelt declared, setting him down and licking his scruff where he'd carried him from the medicine den. They all agreed it would be best if Raggedpelt presented the kit to the nursery while Yellowfang rested in the medicine den, though she still watched.

“I can see that,” Lizardstripe said. “What's it got to do with me?”

“You've just had kits. You have milk to spare,” Raggedpelt said, matter-of-fact. “You will nurse this kit, and I'll hunt for you personally.”

That made Lizardstripe look a little friendlier, and Yellowfang wanted to claw her fur off. It wasn't enough that Lizardstripe had Mudclaw curled around her tail; now she had Raggedpelt, too.

_You have no right to feel that way anymore,_ Yellowfang reminded herself. Raggedpelt wasn't her mate anymore. He could spend time with any she-cat he wanted, and if he moved on and found a new mate, well, so much the better for him.

“I'll call him Brokenkit,” Lizardstripe said.

Raggedpelt cleared his throat. “The mother wanted him to be called—”

“If the mother wants to name him, she can nurse him,” Lizardstripe said, shooting a dirty look at the medicine den. “I'm calling him Brokenkit.”

_You might as well call me Brokenheart,_ Yellowfang thought, turning away from the sorry scene. She wanted to name her kit after her grandmother, the fierce determination she saw in him to survive against the odds, and the warmth she felt when she saw how much he looked like his father. 

_I'm sorry, Firekit…_

 

And so Firekit grew up as Brokenkit, then Brokenpaw. Raggedpelt kept his promise to visit his kit regularly in the nursery at first, but the growing demands of his position as deputy—then leader—kept him from seeing his son more and more as time went on. By the time Brokenpaw became Brokentail, Raggedstar's praise and expressions of affection had a hollow ring to them. How could he be truly proud of a son his position kept him from knowing beyond his mentor's reports and his contributions to the fresh-kill pile?

Yellowfang watched from the medicine den, first beside Sagewhisker, then alone.

_You were right, Sagewhisker,_ Yellowfang thought, watching Brokentail be made deputy of ShadowClan,  _I can't bear it. Not at all._


	4. Ferncloud's Den

_Ferncloud’s Den_

Fernkit was born in ThunderClan’s nursery alongside her brother Ashkit and two others that she didn’t remember well enough to describe. She assumed they were gray, like her and her brother; probably a she-kit and a tom, too. She couldn’t be sure. She was too young to remember anything but Brindleface pulling her and Ashkit closer, nuzzling them a little more fiercely, and the extra space around her belly when her siblings were taken away to be buried.

That space was filled in by Cloudkit, a bigger, white tom-kit. He didn’t stay in the nursery as long as they did, soon apprenticed to Fireheart. She didn’t mind, and neither did Ashkit. They were happy for their brother.

When it was time for her to leave the nursery, she hesitated. Brindleface groomed her twice over while Ashkit trotted around the nursery, pretending he was on border patrol.

“Finally!” Ashkit mewed, “Who do you think our mentors will be?”

 _It doesn’t matter,_ Fernkit thought, _I belong in the nursery!_

Ashpaw received Dustpelt for his mentor; Fernpaw received Darkstripe.

Dustpelt was not a handsome tom. He wasn’t hard to look at, but compared to the likes of their father Whitestorm, or Fireheart, or Longtail, Dustpelt was nothing remarkable. His brown fur didn’t stand out. His broad face wasn’t particularly attractive.

But as the moons went on and Ashpaw and Fernpaw trained with him and Darkstripe, then Longtail after Darkstripe was banished from ThunderClan, Fernpaw found herself more and more drawn to her brother’s mentor. Ashpaw teased her about it relentlessly, but she never rose to his remarks. There was something in Dustpelt—an earnest desire to serve his Clan, a willingness to speak his mind—that called to Fernpaw as surely as a starling sang.

She did her best in training, even when her heart wasn’t in it. Like Dustpelt, she wanted to serve her Clan, even though she knew her place was not in the warrior’s den. Not for long.

Soon after she received her full name, Ferncloud approached Dustpelt and asked him to go hunting with her. No cat seemed surprised that she wanted them to go alone.

A moon later, she happily made her nest in the nursery, and had her first litter: Shrewkit and Spiderkit. She loved watching them grow, caring for them, and thought her chest would burst with pride when they were made apprentices.

She did not return to the warrior’s den then; instead, she stayed in the nursery, helping Brightheart and Sandstorm with their kitting and the difficult first few sunrises of life with their new kits. Soon enough, she found she was expecting another litter.

Then the hunger came.

Hollykit and Larchkit died against her side, like her siblings died next to Brindleface. And like her mother, she gathered Birchkit close, licking him ferociously as though she could force more life into him if she tried hard enough. She understood how her mother felt, and she longed for her to be by her side, to press her face into her shoulder and wail out her grief for her daughters. Instead, she had the comfort of Dustpelt, Ashfur, and the queens she’d helped.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she lost Shrewpaw soon after. Three of her kits were dead in a season, and she only had Spiderpaw and Birchkit left.

She braved the journey to the Clans’ new home with a close eye on her sons, ready to throw herself into the path of any danger that threatened them. She would not lose another kit. She _could_ not.

She took charge of building the new nursery in ThunderClan’s lake camp, reinforcing walls and making the softest nests. Sorreltail was expecting soon, and she would have a safe, comfortable nursery to deliver these kits in.

The nursery was anything but safe when Sorreltail kitted.

Ferncloud wasn’t in the nursery at the time. Spiderleg had just become a warrior, and Birchpaw was a new apprentice. She wouldn’t let either of them come to harm. She might be out of practice with some of her warrior skills, but an extra set of claws and teeth and a mother’s love would surely be enough to protect them. And she had Daisy and her kits to think about; she had to protect them, too.

Her sons survived the battle. Daisy and her kits survived.

Cinderpelt did not. She died protecting the nursery.

It was perhaps a misplaced sense of guilt that led to Ferncloud spoiling little Cinderkit, at least until her own litter was born. Icekit and Foxkit were somehow different from their siblings before, their lives unmarked by tragedy or loss. Ferncloud tried not to let her tension show, relaxing against Dustpelt when he came to visit, watching her kits play.

She stayed in the nursery thereafter, welcoming new queens and their kits, wondering if she would ever have another litter again. It seemed like tempting fate, after Icecloud and Foxleap grew up so happily, not losing a single member of their litter. Besides, ThunderClan had plenty of kits to keep her busy.

Ashfur grew more and more distant from her, making a point of avoiding the nursery after Squirrelflight brought her kits home from the wild. Ferncloud felt such pity for them, being born in the dangerous lands beyond ThunderClan territory. She took them in and looked after them closely, making sure they had enough milk when Squirrelflight struggled to produce any. The poor thing!

By the time Ashfur died, Ferncloud hadn’t had a true conversation with him in moons. She regretted it. Maybe if she had been with him, or had made more of an effort so he didn’t go off alone so much, he wouldn’t have died.

But there was no time to grieve, and Ferncloud had had her fill of it. She devoted herself again to ThunderClan’s kits.

When the Great Battle came, a sense of dread settled over Ferncloud. Sorreltail was in the nursery with kits, as was Brightheart. Both of them curled around their squealing sons and daughters, ready to protect them.

Ferncloud stood at he entrance to the nursery, her claws unsheathed. She did not flinch when a burly tabby tom approached, did not wrinkle her nose at the stench of rot and decay that surrounded him.

“I’ll give you a chance to run,” he snarled, flexing his long claws.

Ferncloud stood firm.

“I was born in the ThunderClan nursery, and I’ll die in the ThunderClan nursery. Do your worst!”

 

She opened her eyes to a warm Greenleaf forest. Shrewpaw was playing with Hollykit and Larchkit, leading them on a play-patrol. Two other mottled gray kits followed after them, and Ferncloud knew they were her siblings, lost so long ago.

A warm tongue brushed over her head, between her ears.

“Brindleface,” she purred, rising to rub her cheek against her mother’s.

“I’m so proud of you, Ferncloud.”

Before long—too soon—Foxleap and Icecloud joined her, then Dustpelt.

It was just Spiderleg and Birchfall alive again, and something about that made Ferncloud purr in amusement. She was content to watch over them, as she always had, and care for the kits, as she always had and always would. She was a Clan cat. She was a warrior.

She was a queen.


End file.
